


gueule de bois

by dazing



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Flashbacks, M/M, Post season finale, confused homosexual longing, post mizumono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazing/pseuds/dazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only word for what had been done to him was 'gutted'. In the act and the feeling of it. </p><p>Today he looks into a mirror for the first time, not being brave enough the past month and a half to look at his reflection during his brief visits to his restroom. Will looked almost like he did before everything in his life ceased to exist, if he squints a little, he thinks he could pass as the same person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gueule de bois

Will hasn't slept in weeks.

 

At first, he had the opposite problem-he didn't leave his bed for almost a month after his return from the hospital. He would sleep twenty hours a day, less than that only if someone from the Bureau was coming over, a Jack-assigned therapist to try to get him to a better state. He told the man that it was in vain-he liked him, he didn't ask too many questions, and he seemed to be as uncomfortable as Will to be there.

Only when he slept did he see visions of Alana, drowning on the sidewalk, gasping to clear her throat of blood and rain and the taste of Hannibal Lecter. He was obsessed. Addiction is the only word that would do the feeling justice. He kept on the other side of consciousness to see Abigail and Alana, and every time he met them, they got less and less bloody. He lost ten pounds. When he did take the initiative to down a bowl of breakfast cereal, he vomited it back in the kitchen sink, a funny souvenir of the memory Abigail seemed to serve him.

He woke up with a feeling in the pit of his stomach the day Jack came, and when the man came in with a sympathetic look on his face, Will agreed that it was for the best that someone else take care of his dogs for the time being. Until, Jack explained, he was _in a better state_.

After that, after the depression, Will was in a state he could only describe as 'in-between', a retelling of the night-sweat limbo that he had been doomed to the moment of his first crime scene. Over the last two weeks or so, Will has opened the windows, gone outside to breath air that hasn't circulated his house a few times. He leaves the jacket inside, the bitter wind hitting his face deserving. It took him a few times running his hands over his body and feeling a few too many ribs to make himself eat all on his own, nobody to come to his doorstep with breakfast in hand, sausage a la insurance agent and a humbling smile to get him to eat. He's been in touch with the caretaker of his pack, teaching her the names of the dogs Jack couldn't identify, which was most. They kept their relationship over the phone, Will feeling too much guilt to see them in person, not yet.

Today he looks into a mirror for the first time, not being brave enough the past month and a half to look at his reflection during his brief visits to his restroom. Will looked almost like he did before everything in his life ceased to exist, if he squints a little, he thinks he could pass as the same person. He's gained back a little weight, but his cheeks are noticeably more hollow and the color under his eyes rival some of the corpses he's seen. Some of them look a bit more alive than he does.

Will jumps a bit when he sees the beard he's grown, not aware of the hair that has overtaken his face until he sees it across from him. It takes a minute to find one of his unused disposable razors, but soon after he does, the only reminder of it is the black hair encompassing his sink. He meets his own eyes again and feels a little more familiar with the face he sees. He even smiles, exercising muscles that haven't been exercised in a long time. He looks laughable, and a weak chuckle echoes in his small ceramic bathroom. The sound that bounces back sounds forced.

As he's taking off his shirt, his fingers run over the raised scar stretching over his torso. The topography of his skin had changed, a power Hannibal held over him uniquely. The wound was no longer alien to him-he got acquainted with it in the hospital, his few waking hours once he came home, and the now endless ones over the last weeks. He would be lying if he didn't admit to running his hand across it the few times he got himself off lately. He tells himself it's the physical stimulation that makes him cum so quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> As with everything I write, I leave room for sequels or epilogues for all of my one shots. I meant for this to be a big tale of Will meeting Hannibal in wherever he went, and maybe if I get some collaboration it will get done. In the 9 months it will take for this damn show to come back I'm sure I'll have something. 
> 
> The title is french for 'hangover', which is reminiscent to what Will is experiencing.


End file.
